


Mine

by lockheed_london



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockheed_london/pseuds/lockheed_london
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for this prompt on the Cabin Pressure prompt meme: http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/6625.html?thread=11812577#cmt11812577</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Un-betaed, so any comments re: typos are much appreciated.

The headboard thumps against the wall rhythmically, Martin’s moans providing a gorgeous counterpoint. Douglas leans down – as best he can, with Martin’s knees hooked over his shoulders and the backs of his thighs braced against Douglas’ stomach and chest – and kisses Martin, pressing kisses to Martin’s slack, panting mouth before pulling off to run his lips along the smooth skin of Martin’s throat. Martin gasps when he feels the light press of Douglas’ teeth, and winds his fingers into Douglas’ hair to guide his head down to his shoulder.

Douglas knows what he wants without being told, and he doesn’t resist but bites his stinging kisses along Martin’s collarbones and trapezius muscle, leaving tiny marks in his wake that state that Martin is most definitely spoken for. He would have preferred them in a slightly more visible place but Martin clearly doesn’t want them to show over his uniform collar and, as always when they’re in bed, Douglas loves giving him what he wants.

Martin’s face is burning, sweat running down from his temples to soak his hair, and Douglas rears back to take Martin’s cock in hand and start stroking it, fast and hard. Martin cries out at this, his body twisting under the onslaught of sensation, and a hand flails out to grab hold of Douglas’ forearm but he doesn’t tell Douglas to stop or slow down and Douglas keeps going, his hand slick with leftover lube and come from Martin’s previous orgasm.

Martin has strong hands, from hours of lugging boxes and holding Gerti’s yoke, and Douglas feels the force of Martin’s grip increase as Martin gets closer to climax. He’s all but making bruises and Douglas hopes greedily that he does; he’ll treasure those little marks that Martin leaves on his body. Perhaps, if they’re _very_ visible, then tomorrow on their return flight he’ll make a point of rolling up his sleeves when he’s around Mr Lord, that bastard who was eyeing up Martin on today’s outbound flight.

‘What, these?’ Douglas will say, when the man’s eyes alight on his forearm, with a ‘we’re all men of the world here’ smirk. ‘Oh, well. I aim to give satisfaction, what can I say.’ And perhaps he’ll let his gaze slide sideways towards Martin just a fraction, just enough to make it indubitably clear who the culprit is.

‘Come on, darling,’ Douglas murmurs to Martin. The only time Martin will let Douglas be tender towards him, without demurring or flushing awkwardly, is when they’re in bed and Douglas takes shameless advantage, lavishing bites and endearments on Martin in equal measures. He glances down to check he doesn’t need more lube – the last thing he wants is to leave Martin sore – but they’ve used what feels like half the tube and so Douglas leans forward, bracing himself for the final stretch.

‘Come on,’ he pants, hips pistoning into Martin faster now, and keeping up the steady quick tugs on Martin’s cock. ‘That’s it, darling, let it go, let me see you.’

Martin gulps a huge breath, and then another, and his hand grabs at the pillow under his head – his other one clamping down _hard_ on Douglas’ forearm – as he shudders into his second orgasm of the evening.

Douglas, his shoulder burning from bracing his weight up on one arm, goes down onto his forearm, body awkwardly twisted to one side so he can keep stroking Martin and rocking into him, and Martin’s knees shoved up until they almost touch his chest. Douglas brushes Martin’s sweaty hair back off his forehead and stretches down to briefly kiss his mouth, crumpled with the almost uncomfortably sharp pleasure of a rare second climax.

‘That’s it,’ Douglas murmurs to him. ‘Oh, _there_ you are, that’s it, just let it go.’

After a few moments Martin gasps sharply and lets go of Douglas’ forearm to still Douglas’ hand on his cock; his eyelids flicker and then open, blinking up at Douglas and looking gratifyingly dazed, before he speaks.

‘Come on, it’s your turn.’ Martin’s voice is cracked slightly, as though he’s been swallowing back cries, and Douglas thrusts a little harder into him. Martin grunts sharply and Douglas stills, but the next instant Martin says ‘No, go on. Just… oh, that feels strange.’

Martin’s body is fluttery with aftershocks, and Douglas goes as slowly and carefully as he can until the frustration gets too much and he grits out ‘I can’t… I need to–’

‘Mmm.’ Martin’s legs loosen and his hands stroke soothingly down Douglas’ chest and stomach. ‘Go on. Do what you need.’

Douglas pulls out and starts to stroke himself hard, almost furiously, until the spiralling ache in his balls pulls into sharper, tighter focus and his legs start to shake under him. At the end, right before he comes, he shoves the top half of his cock awkwardly back inside Martin and squeezes his fist tightly around the base; he spills himself into the tight, wringing clutch of Martin’s body, closing his eyes and almost collapsing at the deep, bone-shaking relief of it.

Martin’s hands grip his shoulders steadyingly and Douglas knows he’s watching, knows that Martin loves seeing Douglas lose control during sex, this evidence that _he_ has the power to evoke that sort of reaction. Douglas’ hand falls away from himself and Martin takes this as a sign to pull Douglas down to lie on his chest, arms and legs rearranging themselves clumsily until Martin’s legs are wrapped loosely around Douglas’ waist and Douglas can feel Martin’s heart pounding under his cheek.

They’re smearing the mess of Martin’s second orgasm between their chests and stomachs but Martin doesn’t seem to mind and Douglas certainly doesn’t. He’s starting to soften, though, and when his cock slides free Martin’s heels dig briefly into Douglas’ thighs as he gasps. Douglas makes to move away, to fetch a cloth and a glass of water for Martin, but Martin’s legs tighten determinedly around Douglas’ waist and he subsides. Besides, it’s no hardship to lie here, listening to Martin’s breathing slowly returning to normal and feeling his hands card gently through Douglas’ hair.

‘So…’ Martin’s voice is a little breathy, and this time he doesn’t resist when Douglas props himself up on one elbow to take his weight off Martin’s chest. ‘I’m not complaining. But what brought this on?’

‘Oh, you know.’ Douglas can’t meet Martin’s eyes, and he shifts his weight, gently coaxing Martin’s legs to relax so that he can move over and lie on the mattress next to Martin. ‘Do I need a reason to spoil you during sex?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

But Martin sounds unconvinced and, to distract him, Douglas lightly touches the marks on the mottled pink skin of Martin’s chest and suggests ‘Let me take you out for dinner tomorrow night, when we’re back in Fitton. We can go to _Papillon_ , you like it there.’

‘I… yes, alright.’ Martin frowns slightly at him. ‘But I’m fairly sure that it’s my turn to take you out.’

Douglas shrugs as best he can while lying on his side, a hand propping his head up. He traces his fingers down Martin’s pale stomach, watching the muscles shiver in his wake. ‘Never mind about that.’

Martin’s frown deepens and Douglas abruptly has to escape his scrutiny, and he rolls onto his back with the intention of getting a glass of water and perhaps taking a moment to compose himself. But Martin moves – faster than Douglas would have thought possible in his post-coital state – and before he knows it then Martin is sprawled mostly on top of him, forearms braced either side of Douglas’ head as Martin looks down at him.

‘Don’t go,’ Martin says softly. ‘Please. Talk to me. What’s wrong?’

Douglas is sharply reminded that Martin does occasionally have moments where he’s not entirely inept in his personal relationships, and he sighs and smoothes a hand down Martin’s warm bare back, resigning himself not getting out of this with his dignity intact.

‘Mr Lord seemed to like you today,’ he says at last. ‘Rather a lot.’

‘And?’ Martin looks charmingly mystified and Douglas sighs again, wondering whether he is, in fact, required to spell it out word by word.

‘Oh!’ Comprehension dawns on Martin’s face before he flushes. ‘Oh. No, you must be wrong.’

Douglas doesn’t dignify this idea with a reply, merely raises an eyebrow and Martin bites his lip. ‘I didn’t even notice.’

Douglas rolls his eyes, and presses his palm into the small of Martin’s back. Thanks to Russian oligarchs and B-list actors with more money than sense then MJN’s star is at last on the rise, and Martin’s with it, and Martin has no idea of the changes that finally acquiring a salary have wrought in him. He walks taller, carries his head higher, and the extra money means that he’s taking fewer van jobs and consequently looks better-fed and rested than he ever has since Douglas met him. He’s starting to look every inch the image of a young, successful airline captain, while Douglas feels as though every morning the bathroom mirror shows him another grey hair, another line that he’s never noticed before.

In addition to the flicker of interest when he met Martin, Mr Lord had been charming enough on the flight that even Carolyn had been smiling by the time they landed, and he had wanted to take them all to dinner on arrival. Looking at Arthur’s bright face and Carolyn’s relaxed air, Douglas felt churlish for even considering refusing, and so he had gone along with as much good grace as he could pretend and had been forced to watch while Mr Lord monopolised Martin, keeping him rapt with stories of his travels.

 _ **I’ve** travelled there too_ ,’ Douglas had, more than once, caught himself thinking petulantly. _And more times than he has, I bet, since I’m a bloody **pilot**._ But he had reined in his thoughts, and turned his attention back to Arthur’s conversation at their end of the table.

He’s been silent too long; Martin’s face pinches anxiously and he says ‘I… I _wouldn’t_. Douglas, really, I’m with you, you can’t imagine that I’d seriously–’

‘No. No, I know you wouldn’t.’ Douglas brings his other arm up to clasp his hands in the small of Martin’s back and enfold him in a hug. ‘I just… well. I suppose I wasn’t thinking.’

‘Hmm.’ Martin knows that Douglas has his demons, although he hides them well, and his gaze narrows in a way that’s rather too perceptive for Douglas’ liking.

‘I love you,’ Martin tells him, very serious. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Douglas’ arms tighten around him involuntarily. ‘Yes, I know. And I love you too. I just… don’t think, sometimes.’

Martin makes a thoughtful noise and wriggles a little on top of him, a mischievous light coming into his eyes. ‘Well, if that’s what your not thinking gets me then perhaps I ought to–’

‘None of that,’ Douglas growls, dipping lower to grab a double-handful of Martin’s bum and squeeze. ‘You’re mine, and I’ll make sure that twerp knows it.’

Martin grins at him in mingled shyness and delight. ‘I can’t believe that you…’

‘That I what?’

Martin is still wet between his buttocks with lube and Douglas’ come, and Douglas dips his fingertips inwards the slightest amount to make Martin writhe.

‘ _Oh_.’ Sure enough Martin squirms, nipping at his lip, and Douglas relents.

‘You can’t believe what?’ he presses.

‘Well, that you get so… I mean, over _me_.’ Martin looks almost amazed. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever been so _wanted_ before.’

‘Well,’ Douglas echoes. What can he say to that? ‘Now you are.’

He lets go of Martin with a last proprietary grope of his bum and nudges him. ‘Now let me up for a moment.’

Martin kisses him but obligingly rolls off him, and Douglas swings his legs over the edge of the bed and makes for the tiny en suite bathroom. He glances back over his shoulder as he snaps the bathroom light on to see that Martin has rolled into the warm space left by his body, eyes closed and nuzzling into Douglas’ pillow. Looking at Martin – still blissfully content and flushed from sex, lying sated amid the tangled sheets of their bed – Douglas smiles to himself, and dares to think that perhaps his star might be on the rise also.

**End**


End file.
